William was beginning to wonder whether perhaps he hadn’t awakened at all and was in the midst of a nightmare, but Trevor put paid to that notion by biting his arm. He hoicked Trevor onto his shoulder, patted his back in a business-like manner, and carried him downstairs—still shrieking—in search of assistance.

He felt oddly calm, in the way that one sometimes is during nightmares, merely watching as terrible things transpire.

She’s gone. He hadn’t the slightest doubt that Miss Crabb was right. He couldn’t get beyond the simple fact of Amaranthus’s disappearance, though. She’s gone. The part of his mind capable of asking questions and making speculations was either still asleep or shocked into paralysis.

He pushed the door to the dining room open and went in. Lord John was sitting at the table in his purple-striped banyan, dipping toast into the yolk of a soft-boiled egg, but at sight of William and his burden, he dropped the toast and shoved back his chair.

“What the devil’s happened?” he asked sharply, coming to William at once. He reached for Trevor. “Where’s Amaranthus?”

“She’s gone,” William said, and the speaking of the words aloud opened a sudden hollow inside his chest, as though someone had scooped out his heart. He carefully unclenched his hand and dropped the crumpled note on the table. “She left this.”

“Read it,” Lord John said shortly. He had thrust an eggy toast soldier into Trevor’s mouth, magically silencing him, and now sat down, balancing the child on his knee.

Dear Uncle John, William read, conscious of his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

It distresses me beyond Measure to leave you in this Way, but I cannot bear to remain longer. I thought of saying that I was going off to drown myself in the Marshes, but I should not like Trevor to believe his Mother a Suicide—though I should not mind his Grace suffering the Pangs of Conscience in believing he had driven me to such an Expedient.

I have made Arrangement to return to my Father’s House in Philadelphia. I leave my Darling in your Care, knowing that he will be safe with you. It tears my Heart to leave him, but the Journey is not safe. Beyond that, Trevor is the Heir to his Grace’s Estates and Title; he should be brought up with the Knowledge of his Heritage and the Responsibilities that go with it. I trust his Grace to provide that—I trust you to provide the constant Love and Security that a Child requires.

Please believe that I am Grateful, beyond my Ability to say, for all your Kindness and Care of me and my Son. I will write as soon as I have reached my Destination.

I will miss you.

I feel as though I write this farewell with my own Heart’s Blood,

but I remain

Your Niece Amaranthus, Viscountess Grey

126

When I Go to Sleep at Night, I Die

Fraser’s Ridge

June 18, 1780